


Sharp Dressed Man

by Crollalanza



Series: The Captain and his Vice [18]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi's interview for an internship with a law firm is not going well. He's tenser than he's ever been, more nervous than before any match, and he can't relax. </p><p>Maybe Suga can help ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Dressed Man

**Author's Note:**

> I need to say thank you to a good many people who have been so incredibly kind to me over the past week when I had a minor crisis all over tumblr and twitter. However, there are too many lovely people to thank, so I'm not going to list them because I will miss someone out. This story is for you guys. It's smutty and undeep because I think I needed to get it out of my system. 
> 
> Also, Suga is exceptionally good at blow jobs. ;-p

“White or blue?”

“Hmm?” Suga looked up from the bed to see a partially clothed Daichi, holding up two shirts.

Two very clean, neatly pressed shirts.  With stiff collars, unfrayed cuffs, and buttons with barely a thread hanging. Two very new shirts, fresh out of their plastic pack with the cardboard and pins removed.

(Two very boring shirts.)

“Red,” he replied, and flipped over the page of his book.

“Really?” Daichi frowned. “Uh ... no, I don’t think so.”

“You look good in red,” Suga insisted.

“This is for the interview, Suga,” Daichi reminded him, trying not to sound exasperated because hell knew he’d been fretting about it all week. “They’re a very conservative law firm.”

“Burgundy, then,” he replied, not looking up.

“No,” Daichi said decisively. “It has to be white or blue.”

“Dark blue,” Suga compromised. “Pale colours don’t suit you. I don’t know why you bought them.”

“Because ... if by some minor miracle I get this internship, then I need work shirts.” He gnawed the side of his mouth as he held up the white, then the blue, and examined the effect in the mirror. “Sug, some help here?”

Swinging his legs off the bed, Suga padded over to him. “I assume you’re going to put trousers on.”

“Ha ha, I have my suit.”

“Shame,” he said lightly, and with a ghost of a grin, casually laid a hand on Daichi’s leg, palm down. “What time’s your interview?”

He closed his eyes, trying not to feel Suga’s fingers as they inched their way up and between his thighs. It was nine-thirty in the morning. His interview was eleven. He supposed there was time, but ... No, he needed to read the file, check his notes, and make sure he was thoroughly prepared. Shagging his boyfriend, however delicious he looked wearing Daichi’s training top and precious little else, could not be his priority. With regret, because Suga’s forefinger had just started to stroke his balls, he stepped away.

“I don’t have time,” he said. “Sorry.”

Suga poked out his tongue. “Spoilsport.” Then he sighed. “You are wearing the dark grey suit, yes?”

“Mmm.”

“That’s something, then.” Suga chewed his lower lip as he scrutinized Daichi. “Okay, try the white shirt, but pick out a decent tie, yes? You want to be memorable, Daichi, not forgettable.”

“Not the blue?” he checked. “I thought white was too boring.”

“White _is_ boring, but pale blue makes it look as if you’ve made a conscious effort to be different.”

“And that’s bad?” Daichi was perplexed. “I thought being different was good so I’d be noticed.”

“It is when the conscious effort isn’t much effort at all. White, however, though very safe, looks as if you’re not concerned about clothes. And that’s probably good as this company is very boring, too.”

Stopping the laugh that was threatening to explode from within, Daichi reached for his suit. “Suga?”

“Yep?”

“Do you actually listen to yourself when you’re speaking?”

Suga whacked him on the shoulder. “I’m taking psychology, Sawamura, don’t mock me.” Picking up his boxers from the floor, he wriggled into them and stepped to the bedroom door. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

Daichi shook his head. “No, I’m far too nervous. If I eat, I’ll do a Hinata and throw up everywhere.”

“It’s tea and toast, not cutlets,” Suga said firmly. “They’re not going to hire an intern whose rumbling stomach deafens out his voice.”

***

Ten minutes later, having found a tie he hoped Suga would, if not actively approve of, he’d at least let him leave the house wearing, Daichi wandered into the kitchen. The kettle was boiling, and Suga having buttered four slices of toast was cutting each one into triangles. Kuroo, sitting with his feet up on a spare chair and drinking coffee, grinned as Daichi took a seat.

“Oya!  Who’s this handsome dude? Suga, you cheatin’ on Sawamura? Not that I blame ya,” Kuroo winked at Daichi and squeezed his shoulder. “Mr Corporate looks hot.”

“Mr Corporate looks very boring according to Suga,” Daichi replied.

“I said the shirt was boring, not the person wearing it,” Suga said mildly, and placing the toast in front of him, he slapped Kuroo’s hand away. “It’s for Daichi. I offered to make you some, but you said no.”

“It tastes better if it’s someone else’s,” Kuroo complained.

Daichi pushed the plate towards him. “Help yourself, I won’t eat all this.”

“Eat some of it,” Suga warned. He leaned across him, pulling the plate away from Kuroo, then rested his hands on Daichi’s shoulders. “You are _ridiculously_ tense.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No,” Suga said, and started to press his thumbs into Daichi’s back. “You’re a mass of knots, Daichi. Come on, roll your shoulders a little and relax.”

He winced as Suga dug in with his fingers. “I’m okay.” He wriggled, trying to shrug Suga off. “Look, I’ll eat something, just lay off me, will you!”

His voice came out harsher than he’d meant. Not that Suga shrank from him, but after administering a small slap to the back of his head, he took a chair opposite Daichi, rather than sitting alongside.

 

“Sooooo,” said Kuroo, when the silence was starting to stick. “You got a chance at getting this gig?”

Daichi shrugged, then felt his shoulders grind. Dammit, Suga was right, he was tense, but no, he couldn’t think of that now.

“There are fifty from my year going for it. They only pick two, and we’re not the only law students in Tokyo. They’re running these interviews over three days.  It’s ... um ... a long shot to put it mildly.”

“You were recommended, though,” Suga said. He sipped his cup of tea, watching Daichi carefully over the brim.

“That’s not a guarantee.”

“It’s better than _not_ being recommended.”

Kuroo coughed. “Is the money good?”

Smiling wryly, Daichi bit into a triangle of toast and laughed. “It’s shit. I’d be better off working shifts at the restaurant with you, but ... it’s experience, and if I do okay, they might think of me when I graduate.”

Pushing the plate towards Kuroo, fixing Suga with a rueful smile, he reached over for the teapot. His hands trembled, but the more he tried to control it, the more he attempted to block out his impending doom, and to not feel nervous, the more his shoulders tensed, his arms stiffened, his hands cramped and his fingers turned to thumbs.

The tea slopped over the side of his cup, spilling onto his hand.

“Fuck!”

“Let me.”

“No, leave it! Fuck!”

“Run your hand under the cold tap.”

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t need your medical opinion, Suga.”

“He’s right.” Kuroo didn’t look up. “Run it under the cold tap, ‘til it stops stingin’.”

“Isn’t oil better? That’s what my mum always says.”

“Not unless you want to fry,” Kuroo murmured. He peered over his magazine. “And that’s my second-year medical student opinion, Sawamura, so maybe you should listen to me.”

With the cold tap running, the shaft of water blasting away the pain, Daichi stared out of the small window of their student flat and tried to breathe. He could see Suga exchanging eye-meets with Kuroo, the pair of them clearly in cahoots over something, but whether it was concern for him, or irritation, he didn’t know. And, at that precise moment, he wasn’t sure he cared. If neither of them could see how important the interview was, that his future rested on getting this internship, and that the right colour shirt might make all the difference to his career, then maybe he should just bowl out of here early and sit in the library for an hour.

“Daichi.” Suga’s voice was soft behind him.

“What?”

“You’re getting your sleeve wet.”

 _Fuck!_ “Great!  It’ll have to be the blue, then.”

“No,” Suga said, and pulling him around, he started to unbutton Daichi’s shirt. “I’ll dry the cuff for you with the iron.  Sit down, finish your toast and let Kuroo pour you some tea. Then you can read your notes again, okay?”

His fingers worked quickly (plus he’d had plenty of practise) and within seconds, Daichi was shirtless again. Accepting Suga’s peck on the cheek, he sat back at the table, and tried to eat, but the toast, although buttered and still warm, felt as unswallowable as cardboard in his mouth.

From the lounge he heard Suga setting up the ironing board (their kitchen was too small) so after managing one more triangle of toast, he picked up his mug of tea and wandered in.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, watching from the door as Suga pressed the iron onto his cuff.

“I know,” Suga remarked, and looked up from the ironing board. “You still look incredibly tense. Why don’t you lie down and I’ll give you a massage?”

“Uh-”

“Nothing kinky, I promise,” Suga said, a laugh gurgling in his throat.

“Uh ... no ... I’m fine,” Daichi muttered, and didn’t move from the door.

“Come on, you can read your notes while I unknot you.”

“No, please, don’t ... uh ... It doesn’t matter.” He rolled his shoulders, still hearing the crick, but grinned widely at Suga. “I’m much better now.”

“Rubbish! Sit!” Suga ordered.

Daichi sat. And felt himself tense up even more, because there was no way he could stop Suga when his mind was made up, and there was also no way Daichi wanted his boyfriend to lay his malevolent massaging fingers on his muscles. “Suga ...” he began.

“Won’t be a minute. Lie down.”

“Suga,” he tried again.

“Or go to the bathroom and fetch some oil. That will help, especially if you use the lavender scented...” He screwed up his nose. “Although then you’ll get oil all over the shirt, so, um, get some lotion. That always soaks into the skin, and the smell won’t clash with your -”

“Suga!” Daichi snapped. “I don’t want a massage.”

“But it will be good for you.”

“Probably it would, but ...” He took a breath. Now was the time for plain speaking - and fast-talking. “Suga, I love you, but your massages suck. It’s like a degree of torture being under your ministrations.”

“What?” Suga gaped at him, too shocked to move. “What are you on about? You always say my massages have done you the ... ‘world of good’. That after five minutes you feel better.”

“Because if I don’t say that, then you’ll continue!” Daichi retorted. He tried a smile. “Honestly, Sug, they fricking hurt. I swear I end up with bruises.”

“Oh- I ... oh.” Suga paused, lifted the iron off the shirt and tested the cuff. “This is dry now,” he said quietly, holding it out to Daichi.

“Thanks.” He stood up, accepted it, and swallowed when Suga turned away. “Sorry.”

“Forget it.” Suga shrugged, unplugged the iron and started to wind the cord. “I’ll ... um ... leave you in peace. Let me know if you want more tea.”

Daichi slipped on the shirt, buttoning it up halfway, all the while watching as Suga packed away the board. “Sug?”

“Hmm?”

“Want to sit with me for a while? Take my mind off things?”

“What, and make you late for your interview?” Suga murmured. His lips twitched into a smile, and all at once, Daichi breathed again, his relief palpable that Suga wasn’t upset. He gazed at him as he bent down to pick up the iron, taking in the slender legs, the sharp angle of his hips and the faint crease at the top of each thigh where his arse joined his legs. With regret he turned away, because as much as he wanted to drag Suga over to him right at that instant and fuck his brains out, he knew he had to prioritise.

“Huh, what was that?” he asked.

“Stop looking at my arse!” Suga laughed as he straightened up. “I said you’re going to be fine. Stuffy-McSnooty-san will be the biggest dumbasses on the block if they don’t take you on. But ... um ...”

The hesitation made Daichi wince. “What?” he asked, now nervous.

 “Hmm? Oh ... um ... okay, don’t get angry, but ... uh ...”

“Suga! Spit it out!”

Suga stared at him. “There are other law firms, Daichi. I know you want this one, and I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly, but –”  He stopped, clearly waiting for Daichi to explode, then when he didn’t he gave a small smile. “- there were other ways to get to Nationals, right?  Not just the Inter High.”

 

***

 

‘How’s it going?’

Daichi stared at the text from Suga, then around the waiting area where he sat with forty nine other applicants, thirty of whom were identically dressed in white shirts, the other nineteen wearing pale blue.

‘Crap.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I’ve just had first interview. Lasted ten minutes, if that.’

‘what’s the problem?’

 _What isn’t the problem?_ He thought, trying not to cringe as he remembered his clammy handshake, the way his tongue appeared to tie into eleventy knots when he introduced himself. _Hell, they must think I’m called Samawara!_ But the worst had been accepting a drink and hearing the coffee cup rattle in the saucer. At least he hadn’t dropped it, or fallen off his chair because his legs had been shaking so hard. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, tried to block out the bored expression on the interviewers’ faces.

‘Nerves, I guess.,’ he typed.

 ‘What comes next?’

‘Tour of the building in ten minutes time. Lunch, then an afternoon session with partners. We’re put in groups.’

‘This is your chance, Captain! You can lead the group and stand out!’

He bit his lip. ‘Sug?’

‘Yes’

‘Two people are wearing the same tie as me.’

There was a break, and although he couldn’t see him, Daichi knew Suga was thinking what to say.

‘Then tear yours off and wrap it round your head’

Daichi snorted, and a small bubble of laughter welled up inside him. ‘Dumbass!!’

‘Nah, you’ll look cool. They won’t be able to resist you.’

 

 

The tour of the building lasted around forty-five minutes. A woman with sharp cut black hair and wearing a dark green suit introduced herself as Saito-san and led them around the offices. She spoke in a bored, if assured tone, explaining each department, the set up, and pointing out the photographs on the walls of each corridor - photographs of the partners or prestigious clients, each more intimidating to look at than the last. Daichi’s eyes flickered to the current chairman’s picture, and he gave a small grin, because Igarashi-sama, had the scowl of old Coach Ukai. He tipped his head to him, half expecting a flock of crows to appear and peck him for his levity, but none did.

Despite his tour guide’s look of disapproval when he lingered by the portrait, and the smirks from the other candidates when they saw her reproof, Daichi felt more than ever that this was the place he wanted to be.  Yes, it was conservative. Yes, Suga would think it snooty and stuffy, but they took the best, and he wanted to be part of that.

“There’s a buffet lunch laid out in the cafeteria,” Saito-san informed them as they came to a halt. “Or you may wish to leave for some air. Reconvene in the atrium at two o’clock. Sharp!”

 _I should eat,_ he thought. _Suga’s right, my rumbling stomach is deafening when desperate._

But just as he reached the cafeteria door, his phone vibrated.

‘I’m at reception’

“Suga? What the actual fuck are you-“ He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that nine pairs of eyes were turned on him. Meeting their gaze, he gave a wintry smile but no explanation beyond a ‘See you later’ as he turned on his heel and headed for the lift.

True to his word, Suga was in reception. He wasn’t sitting quietly, or unobtrusively, but was instead chatting away to the receptionist, making her giggle with his infectious laugh as they swapped jokes and stories about celebrities.  

“Suga?” Daichi stared at him in astonishment because not only was he there, but he was wearing a pale blue suit, and as far as Daichi knew, Suga didn’t own a suit.

“Yes, that’s me, Sugawara Koushi!” Suga interrupted loudly and flashed both Daichi and the receptionist a smile. “You must be the student sent to meet me. Ah, I’m sorry I’m late. I was explaining to Kita-san here, what a dreadful journey it’s been. Still I’m here now, and just in time for lunch.”

“Uhm,” Kita, as Daichi had just discovered the receptionist was called, raised her hand and stared imploringly at Suga from under her thick eyelashes and teased to-a-pinpoint eyebrows. “I don’t have your name on the list, Sugawara-san.”

He rolled his eyes. “I expect that’s because I’m late. They must have thought I wasn’t coming. Great Uncle Igarashi is going to be _furious_ with me!”

“Y-your great-uncle?” she questioned, in an awed tome. “Um, b-but you don’t have the same surname.”

“My mother’s uncle,” Suga replied smoothly. “I’m said to resemble him. What do you think?”

“Um,  y-yes, I suppose so,” she said cautiously. With the minutest of sighs, she waved him through. Picking up his bag, Suga turned his face away from her and winked at Daichi.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Daichi whispered as he approached.

“Vice Captain to the rescue!” Suga muttered. “Just go with it, okay.”

“Suga, this isn’t a bloody volleyball game.”

“I know.” Suga touched him lightly on the arm, the gesture causing Daichi to stop walking and look at him. “It’s more important than that,” Suga said. “And believe me, I am not here to screw things up for you, but ... um ... you sounded so down that I wanted to check on you.”

“How can I _sound_ down, when all I did was text you?”

“Your spelling was flawless,” Suga muttered, then smiled. “Always a bad sign.”

“You can’t be here, Suga. They’ll throw you out, and me too, probably.”

“Hmm, they’ll have to discover me first and with fifty or more wannabee interns on the premises, no one’s going to think it odd that I’m here, are they?” He looked around. “Okay, where are the toilets?”

“What?”

“Or anywhere private. Toilets might not be the best place, actually, as people will be in and out of there,” he gabbled before snapping his finger and thumb in front of Daichi’s eyes. “Daichi, listen to me. Where’s a room we can go to?”

He heard footsteps, the tap tapping of high heels, and in alarm because it could well have been Saito-san, Daichi fell back onto a door. He glanced through the window, saw it was empty and reached for the handle, praying to whatever deity was up there, that it wasn’t locked.

It opened. He grabbed Suga by the arm, and hauled him into the room, closing the door, just as Saito-san rounded the corner.

“Now are you going to tell me what the hell you’re-”

“Wow, this office is plush,” Suga said in awe, his eyes taking in what Daichi could see. The red, deep pile carpet, the stark white walls, single black desk and shelves, water fountain, and the large leather executive chair. “If you worked here, would you get one like this?”

“Uh... no. I’d be in a cage down the end with the other rabbits,” Daichi muttered. “Although if they discover you then I won’t even get that chance. Sug ... please, please, please ... oh light of my life, please leave.”

“Ughh, who’s that ugly old bird?” Suga demanded, staring at the one picture on the wall. “Gods, he’s scary!”

Daichi joined him. His lips twitched. “That’s your Great -Uncle, Sug. And yeah, I can totally see the resemblance!”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “I _had_ to say something.”

“No, no, you didn’t. You don’t _have_ to be here,” he replied, then folding his arms, stood firm in front of Suga. “So why are you here? And ... where the hell did you get that suit from? It’s atrocious.”

“Do you like it?” Suga asked, sticking one leg in front of the other as if posing for a photo-shoot.

“No, I can see your socks, and they don’t match. The trouser legs are too shor... oh!” Realisation struck him. “It’s Morisuke’s, isn’t it?”

Suga nodded. “He’s not in, so I need to make this quick, and then I can return it before he gets home.”

“So you’re not planning to stay for the rest of the session, then?”

“Gods, no! Why would I want to join Stuffy-McSnooty?”

 _Why indeed?_ Daichi thought. He coughed. “So ... um ... why are you here?” he asked for what felt like the twentieth time.

With another ‘ah-ha’ Suga delved into his bag. “Present for you,” he said, and threw a small package at him.

Arching one eyebrow, Daichi tried to hide his smile, but Suga merely grinned back at him. “This is grey,” he said, as he examined a new tie, still with price tags attached. “That’s really boring, Suga! What are you thinking?”

“Okay, smart-arse!” Suga retorted. “What I’m thinking is that the new grey, _silk_ tie I have bought you, not only matches your suit.” He paused while Daichi compared colours. “It will also look perfect with this ... VOILA!”

And with a flourish, Suga produced the red shirt.

“I am _not_ wearing that!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s ... it’s ...”

“Beautiful, and you look hot in it,” Suga interrupted.

“It’s unsuitable!” he protested.

“No. It’s dynamic, and it will make you stand out, Daichi. You do want this job, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! But-“

But, nothing. Suga refused to listen to any more arguments and was already unbuttoning Daichi’s jacket before he’d had a chance to finish his sentence. He closed his mouth, knowing that Suga in this mood was unstoppable. Daichi would go with the flow, get rid of him, and then change back into the white shirt when he’d gone.

“Shirt and tie, Sawamura,” he ordered. “Unless you want me to take them off.”

With a grimace, Daichi undressed, draping the white shirt carefully on the leather chair. He reached for the red one, slipping it on, but before he could start to button it up, Suga grabbed his hand.

“You are still so tense, Dai. What’s the matter?”

Sighing, Daichi sat down, his hands gripping the chair arms. “I know you think this firm are boring. I know you can’t believe I want to work somewhere as conservative as this, but it’s important, Sug, and I’ve got to relax, because I really did muck things up earlier, but ... no matter what I try, deep breathing, glass of water, trying to imagine the interviewers naked-” He shuddered.  “Don’t do that, ever, by the way, especially if the guy’s ugly –”

“I won’t,” Suga assured him. He stepped closer, bending over him to pull the shirt sides together. “I’ve never seen you so fraught. You weren’t like this before a match.”

Daichi swallowed down the hard lump threatening to block his throat, and touched his forehead to Suga’s. “I had this really good Vice-Captain,” he rasped. “He kept me calm.”

“Ah.” Suga slipped his hands around Daichi’s neck and laced his fingers in the thatch of his hair. “I know you don’t like my massages. My tortuous ministrations, as you called them, but maybe ...” he whispered.

Daichi gulped.”Maybe, what?”

But there was no point asking because he knew Suga wasn’t about to tell him. Instead, he was intent on showing him. His right hand which had been draped over Daichi’s shoulder, slid down to his waist, his fingers skimming under the shirt, dancing lightly over his torso.

“Suga, what are you ... No... We can’t ...SUGA!”

“Hush ...” His hand crept lower. He palmed Daichi’s crotch, a small smile on his lips as he began to massage him to an erection, keeping eye contact, daring Daichi to refuse. “How private is this office?”

“Suga ... uh ... oh fuck... um ...” He tried to push back on the chair, but the wheels had locked. “I don’t know. Someone could walk in anytime.”

“How ... exciting,” Suga whispered, and now his tongue was poking between his teeth. “I’d better be quick, then.”

“Suga, we _cannot_ do this!” Daichi hissed.

Suga, however, was on his knees, grinning up at Daichi, before pressing his lips to his stomach. “The desk covers me, so keep an eye on the door and let me get on with my work.”

“You want me to act as look- ou-uuut.” He gasped and closed his eyes, immediately opening them in panic, but although he could so easily have stopped this, instead of pushing Suga off him, he gripped hold of the chair, utterly compliant.

Suga’s breath was hot through the fabric, his tongue wet as it traced a path across Daichi’s waist, and his teeth hard as they nuzzled his skin. Daichi could feel Suga’s lips tugging the dark hair delineating his groin. And then Suga’s fingers joined the game, one hand sliding under the waistband, while the other unzipped his trousers.

Grasping Daichi’s cock, Suga began to work him, slowly easing his hand up and down, while he lowered his mouth, and softly blew onto the tip.

“Shall I stop?” he whispered, but before Daichi could reply (not that he was sure he could have replied because every intelligible word had left his brain) Suga slid his lips down one side of the shaft, the faint stubble on his chin scratching at the base.

His lips were moist, and warm and achingly slow as Suga pouted and teased, his tongue zigzagging to the top, darting over the head, licking like a cat at the oozing precum. And all the while, his hand gripped, no longer moving, just keeping Daichi in place.

“Shall I stop?” he repeated.

And now Daichi could feel teeth, and the ever-present danger Suga would bite, coupled with the illicit thrill of discovery, made him quiver. “Don’t stop, but ... hu-hu-hu be quick ... _please._ ”

At that, Suga returned to his ‘work’, sliding his mouth up and down Daichi’s cock, sucking in his cheeks, pressing against the roof of his mouth, close to swallowing him whole, as he worked him deeper inside.

 _This cannot be happening_ , Daichi thought, or maybe he said it out loud, he didn’t know. Somehow, his trousers were down to his feet, and his boxers eased to his knees, but he couldn’t remember that happening. Hell, he couldn’t even remember his name at that precise moment. He wasn’t sure of anything, couldn’t tell where he was, or if anyone was with them because all he was aware of was the insistent pressure of Suga’s lips, and the incessant rhythm as he caressed not just his cock with his mouth, but kneaded Daichi’s thighs with his fists. Suga’s thumbs splayed out, stroking the base of his groin, and Daichi felt the first familiar shudder wave through him.

He wanted to delay, wanted more than anything to stay on this plane and never climb down. And usually Suga would tease him for longer, would maybe disengage, slow the pace, puff out his cheeks, or stop entirely (he’d once wandered off ostensibly to get a glass of water) but not that day.

Suga sucked. Hard. His fingers gripped Daichi’s thighs, nails scratching, knuckles pummelling, until at last the faint jerk became faster, and Daichi’s hands left the chair arms to clasp Suga’s head, fisting his hands into Suga’s hair (just in case he was thinking about getting a glass of water). And although he usually pulled away, jerking his cum on himself rather than in Suga’s mouth, Suga refused to relinquish him.

“Fuck this,” he whimpered as he thrust. “Kerrrist, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Suga said, his voice muffled.

Staring up at the ceiling, helpless to do anything but let Suga wipe away the aftershocks and spills, to redress him, smoothing first the boxers and then his trousers up his legs, Daichi felt lighter, happier. His shoulders, once so knotted, were free and flowing. His thoughts clearer, his hands not shaking. He stared down at Suga, who’d rocked back on his heels, a smirk on his face as he wiped his lips.

On the front of Daichi’s white shirt.

“You sneaky bastard,” he said faintly. “I can’t wear that now.”

“Tch, Daichi, it’s a good job I’m not after you for the honeyed words, isn’t it?” Suga said sweetly and in one fluid movement got to his feet.

Daichi’s stomach rumbled. Suga laughed. “Tuck in your shirt, your gorgeous red shirt. Tighten the tie, that very beautiful silk tie that your perfect boyfriend bought for you, and get some lunch, Sawamura.” He bent over him, pressing his lips to Daichi’s, slipping in his tongue, letting Daichi taste himself in Suga’s mouth. “This is the Spring High and you have an internship to win, Daichi. So ... go get them, Captain Crow.”


End file.
